


Afterparty

by kayforpay



Category: Hiveswap, Homestuck
Genre: Bondage, Collars, F/M, Femdom, Gentle Dom, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, Oral Sex, Some Plot, Vaginal Sex, Xenobiology
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-12
Updated: 2019-01-12
Packaged: 2019-10-08 18:12:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17391212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kayforpay/pseuds/kayforpay
Summary: Marvus, besides being stunning, sweet, talented and smart, is exactly the kind of troll you want in a highblood. He's gentle, he's nice, and he made you an offer that you could refuse, but would never want to. You're really starting to like him a lot.





	Afterparty

Ever since you smashed the stage to get back at that highblood stealing your songs, you’ve gotten a lot more attention than you’re used to, from everyone. A lot of people were mad, of course, but more thought it was cool. Videos of your performance were up on GrubTube and getting thousands of hits within the night. As it tends to happen, a handful of highbloods offered to sponsor you, including a clown. You knew _of_ him, but you didn’t ever go to his shows or anything; you just knew he was famous.

And then you met him, and not only was he famous and gorgeous, he was nice. Like, incredibly so. He took you in for a few songs as backup on his album, took you to a show or two, and even as he showed you off like a trophy, or a pet, to the highbloods milling around at the front of the crowd, he was terribly gentle with you, and never pushed to the front for any of his parts. It was… Well, it was fucking weird, is what it was. What kind of clown is _that_ nice, when they don’t need something from you.

Though, you think, standing in the wings and watching him gyrate his way through the final number, you guess he needed something from you, though it only came up because you got a little too comfortable and drank more than you maybe should have. You told him to get on his knees, and he froze for a second, looked at the cameras, and kneeled. And you saw him flushed in the clear skin around his eyes and had an inkling. A few more tests and you could tell what he wanted, or needed. He needed to be controlled, and he wanted you to do it.

Obviously, you talked with him about it before you did anything, and he was clear that you could do just about anything you wanted, including leave. His legal team drafted a contract giving you power over your songs, and granting you almost full royalties, and completely full if something made you have to split. And it’s been _good._ He’s been really fucking good, both to you and for your career, and he’s, well. Gorgeous. So you don’t mind too terribly much.

Hell, why lie. You like it, and you like him. He’s sweet, and it’s hard to stay impersonal with someone you spend a good hour and a half calming down some nights. And who you go out to dinner with most nights, and who you usually wake up half-pinned under. You haven’t approached any kind of quad talk with him yet, but you could see it. You should bring it up sometime.

Not now, though. You’re busy tonight. Because you’re planning something with him, and you don’t want to stall the night with explaining your feelings on the off-chance he doesn’t want you to _actually_ like him, and only to like having sex with him. No, you can save it for later, all that deep discussion stuff. For now, you just catch his eye as he starts into one of his older songs, one of the ones you heard first, and get a little wave from him to tell you yes. You pull your mask back over your face, because it’s become kind of a mainstay for your shows, and jog onstage with him, sliding to a stop beside him to take over during the intro verse.

His grin stretches wider and he spins to face you, his eyes lighting up as he shifts into an almost prowling position, his voice going low and predatory as he asks the crowd what he has here. You see some people faint in the front and immediately get trampled so the people behind them can take their place, looking up at Marvus with adoration like he’s some kind of god. You’d almost wonder if it was sacreligious, but you’re busy stomping up to push at his chest on the second verse. You two have done this a few times, and it always ends with you seeming to almost win before he takes you out with a verse that’s so good, you faint.

Or, at least, that’s the act. He is a better rapper than you are, you’re fully ready to admit that, but you’ve never fainted because of anything in these shows; though the smell of people forgetting their concert diapers comes pretty fucking close to knocking you out sometimes. No, you just know the act. You lay down on the stage and he takes his canesword and pretends to stab you through the heart, and then bids the crowd a goodnight before fucking off to the side while he roadies collect your “corpse”. It always riles everyone in the crowd into a rabid frenzy, seeing a highblood strike down an arrogant lowblood like that, and even if it’s more than a little demeaning, it’s kept you safe from the fans and kept Marvus looking right to them.

If they knew he was a softie, you might not even have another tour with him.

There’s a lot of faux shoving on your end, and Marvus overacting his stumbling back, seeming almost defeated while the roar of the crowd gets more and more intense and the barrier between them and the stage creaks under their combined rage and weight, and you strike a cocky pose as you deliver the last line of your side, flip him off, and he skulks into the relative shadows of the back side of the stage. You stand and raise your arms for more screaming from the fans, keeping a careful eye out for anything thrown, and turn on your heel to saunter offstage, apparently the winner, before he surges forward in his refreshed suit.

As always, he delivers lines so fast you, honestly and outside of the skit, cannot keep up with him, his attention focused on you with the usual lazy smile he has and his eyes narrowed in intensity, and on the final word he snaps, you fall with a shriek, and he draws his sword. Looking up at him out of breath and sweaty, you can see the bruises only half-covered by his melting foundation on his throat and collarbone, and almost wish you could threaten him with more. The live mic stops you, but you wink at him, and his shoulders turn purple before he stabs the floor beside you. The crowd is so loud it feels like the lights might shatter from it, and he turns with a grin to face them.

“Good motherfuckin’ night. Keep those nasty li’l lowbloods in their places, right?” He calls, and gets a chorus of definitely sacreligious ‘whoop-whoops’ from the crowd, which he doesn’t even react to. God, he is a good showman. “Now, babes and babies, I gotta call it quits. Get my motherfuckin’ rest on. Keep my pretty youthful face and bod goin’ for all you cute motherfuckers tryin’ to sneak into my limo.” The crowd wails. “But I’m still on tour, don’t go all poutin’. Come see me wherever I go next. Miss ya later!”

He walks off stage to mixed screams of adoration and wailing of loss, and the energy in the crowd gets violent fast. Just as the blood starts flying, the roadies drag you offstage and then gently help you up, apologizing for having bumped you around as they did.

“No, it’s okay. At least the drum set wasn’t out!” You giggle, putting on your usual highbloods-around-smile. They apologize again, insisting that they’re in the process of finding some way to keep from having to slide you, and then leave as you smile more genuinely. It’s always a surprise how polite Marvus’ tour group is, especially to you. You’re the lowest on the spectrum in the entire staff, even down to teardown crew is olive at least. “Be careful cleaning up out there!”

A cool bottle of water slides against the back of your neck and you yelp, then snatch it from Marvus’ hand and slap his chest. “Don’t worry, chicky, they’re the best we motherfuckin’ got. No li’l riot’s gonna stop them gettin’ their work done. How you doin’? Didn’t hit the stage too hard, didja?” He has a towel around his neck, and when you finish downing half the bottle he gave you, you take either end in your hands and pull him down until you’re nose to nose.

“No, I’m fine. I was just wondering if anyone else saw those bites I’ve been leaving on you, or if it was just me.” You purr, dropping your voice. His contracts have recently been changed, so he can have private time, like now, without his camera crew watching. The roadhands don’t look twice at you and him, even though he’s flushed up his neck, his ears twitching. “Where’s your collar, good boy? You’re supposed to have it on for me after shows.”

That was the loose agreement; neither of you wanted him wearing it all the time, but it was a good way to play into the scene, pretending you had a strict rule and he had broken it so you could punish him privately. He liked it even more than you did, riding the endorphins of a great show directly into a scene both of you were careful to work on.

“I uh, forgot, Chixie.” He murmurs, his smile going wobbly and sweet with his excitement. “Sorry. Real sorry. I think it’s in my room.”

You take the opportunity to kiss him, just lightly, and then release him, and he starts walking to his dressing room immediately, with you close behind. “You know the rule, Marvus. It’s almost like you want to be punished.” You lock the door behind yourself, and see his collar sitting on his dressing room table, partially obscured by some costume scarf to look like a set piece. “There it is. Bring it here, I’ll put it on you.” You make your voice stern, and he picks it up before kneeling in front of you sheepishly, his head bowed.

You rake your claws through his hair, combing it off of his neck, and wipe off the lingering makeup with his towel before tossing it, all while he purrs gently up at you, one of his hands inching towards your ankle to hold on. Then, you loop the collar around his neck, tighten it until it’s just on the edge of snug, and click the little heart-shaped lock in place. The collar is cute; purple stitched with bronze, and stamped with a pattern of your symbols on the front. It’s probably a lot more actually-quadded material than it should be, but he picked it out for himself, and you’re not against it in the slightest.

“Good boy. You look better now.” You purr, lifting his chin with a hand tangled in his hair. He groans, but doesn’t resist, looking up at you with an adoration similar to that of his fans. “You’re so cute like this. Stand up, I want to look at you.”

He stands, just like you told him to, and you walk around him to look him over, grabbing his chest a bit before moving on. He fidgets under your scrutiny, and follows your hand when you stroke his jaw, leaning forward and looking needy. It has been a few wipes since you did anything with him; he’s had interviews and you’ve had meetings with executives. He’s probably a little pent up for this kind of attention.

Your claws drag up his back, under his shirt, and he shudders, lifting his arms to shrug off his clothes. You grope at his chest, claw over his abdomen, and grind the heel of your hand into his sheathe, all of which makes him moan and shiver, hands twitching at his sides. “If you take care of me, I might just take care of you.” You promise, kissing his spine, and he makes a little crooning noise you know means yes. Still, you have to ask. “Are you ready, Marvus?”

“Yes. Fuckin’, please.” He mumbles, and then falls to his knees, turning his head over his shoulder to look at you. “Anythin’ you want, babe. Miss. Uh, Chixie, fuckin’ anything.”

He’s cute when he’s speechless, stumbling over himself to stick to the scene while he looks up at you, eyes sparkling under his long lashes. You drag your claws through his hair as you walk past him, and he crawls behind you to your seat, legs crossed at the knee on his sofa. “Anything I want? You’re sweet.” You lift his chin with the tips of your fingers, and then sit back, taking a second to just look him over. It’s hard not to enjoy this feeling, powerful over him because he wants you to be, he asked you to be. The glimmering adoration in his gorgeous purple eyes is almost too exciting for you to keep in character.

Marvus kneels just in front of you, close enough he could lean his cheek on your knee if you wanted, close enough that you can lift his chin with your fingertips without having to even lean forward. You’re sitting near the edge of the couch, and his hands creep forward as you settle, resting ever so lightly on your ankles. “Chixie. Please. Lemme do somethin’ for you.” He squeezes, and you pinch his ear.

“Hands to yourself. Something _for_ me?” You uncross your legs and his eyes dart downwards, and even knowing that he has both seen everything before and that he can’t see through your sweater and your leggings, you flush and pull his hair in reprimand. “If you think you can keep your hands from wandering, I might let you please me. Not that you deserve it, forgetting your collar like you did.”

He chitters a little submissive noise, the kind that, before meeting him, you’d only heard from lowbloods in pailvids, and then manages to speak, leaning against the tug in his hair. “I’ll be good. I’ll keep my hands to myself. Promise.” He purrs, folding his hands under his thighs. “A-and I’m not gonna touch anything else. Only you. If you want. Please?”

“Only me with your mouth, you mean. I don’t want your hands getting involved at all.” You clarify, and he nods quickly, smiling. He’s so cute. “That’s a good boy. Tell me you want to make me feel good.”

Your face feels hot, but he’s just smiling up at you like you’re exactly what he imagines for this kind of thing. He leans forward as you pull your sweater over your head and drop it on the floor in a pile, watching you undress with low crooning noises; he’s noisy, which is reassuring and nice, and cute besides. He’s gorgeous, built the way highbloods are meant to be with the kind of easy smile that makes it hard to pay attention to much else, and those deep purple eyes and his messy hair. Being over him, with him begging for the privilege of eating you out? It’s intoxicating. You’d sign contracts with him even if he wasn’t so talented you were finally making money with your music.

As you wiggle your leggings and panties off, your boots kicked off with only a little struggle, he flutters his eyelashes at you. “I wanna make you feel good, Chixie. I wanna do anythin’ you want from me.” He purrs, his eyes trailing over your chest and down to your hips, where the last bites he left in what was much less of a scene than this are slow to fade.

“Since you put it that way.” You almost whisper, and have to clear your throat to go on when he licks his lips. You spread your legs slightly and pull him by the horn to shove his face between your legs, eyes closing. “Get to it.”

Marvus moans, shuffling closer to work at you, his sinful tongue pressing just barely against the slit of your sheathe to make your bulge slither out and into his mouth. You drape a leg over his shoulder, tangling a hand into his hair, and let yourself relax. He’s good at this; he’s mentioned that it’s kind of a clown thing, because of their beliefs and because if he wasn’t, his face would be ruined while he did. Whatever his reasons, you let your head fall back and your shoulders relax, and then finally allow yourself to make some noise, pulling at his hair to direct him when you need. He purrs and moans against you, and when you peek down at him, his eyes are half lidded and locked on you, your bulge twisting fitfully against your thigh while he focuses on your nook.

You could spend hours like this, even if you’d get sore after a while, with him pressing himself forward and crooning little pleased sounds, his hands resting on your hips-- Wait. You pull his hands off you at the wrist, pushing them down and him back with a foot planted in the center of his chest. “I thought I said no hands, Marvus.” He whimpers, grasping lightly at the air, and pushes just so against you pushing him back.

“I’m sorry. Sorry. I jus’, you’re so motherfuckin’ pretty. I wanna get my feelstalks all over you.” He licks his lips, and drops his hands back to his sides. He looks pitiful, apologetic and pulling woofbeast eyes on you. His ears even flick down. “Can I try again? Please, Chixie. Miss, I’ll do better.”

Wait a few seconds, you want to make it seem like you’re really thinking it over. When he whimpers again, you sigh, replacing your leg over his shoulder. “I’ll give you one more chance. After that, I’ll just have to think of something to do with your hands to keep them busy.” You purr, and he nods, pressing his face back against your nook with a low moan that you mirror.

His apology is worth having to pause, you think, melting back against the couch while he redoubles his efforts. You rest your other thigh over his shoulder, and you can feel his ears against your thighs while he moves his head. You’re glad that Marvus’ word is basically law; You’ve never even gotten a side-eye for the noise you and he make, and it’s just nice to be able to relax and enjoy yourself without feeling watched and judged for once.

His hands slide up your legs, back to your hips, and you cover them with your own. He’s humming, gently, his eyes closed in concentration, and when he turns his hands to hold yours you let him, lacing your fingers with his while your toes kind of curl. You do like holding his hands, anyway, you can change the rules for a second here. Nothing is written in stone; hell, half the time he just slinks into your dressing room and asks if you want to make out, not this whole thing.

You lift your back from the cushion where you’ve slid down to lock your ankles behind him and give him better access, your eyes closed tight. His hands squeeze yours, his lips close around your pleasurenub, and you press closer to him, weakly ordering him to keep doing exactly that. You feel it build up in your chest, hot and liquid, and you have to let go of his hands to push yourself upright, crooning and curling over his head as you come. He holds your hips while you squirm, moaning against your nook until you yank his hair to pull him back, panting sharply while your thighs shiver against his ears.

Marvus licks his lips, purring and kneading at your hips while you catch your breath. It takes you a few long moments, but you push his hands back towards him, and then fix your hair. “Marvus. I said no hands.” You say, struggling not to giggle about changing it up, and he smiles wider. “I thought you promised to do better.” As you speak, you step your legs down off his shoulders, and he sits up straighter.

“I just got excited. You can’t blame a clown for that.” He says, grinning one of his concert grins up at you, and he knows you hate them. He just wants to be punished. You pull his hair until he has to stand up, and Marvus yips. “Ow! Ow, ow ow ow, sorry, I’m sorry, sorry Chixie.”

You stand up, and he’s still bent over so you can keep hold of his hair, and you push him into your seat, then put your hands on your hips. “I don’t like giving second chances, you know. I wanted you to be a good boy. And look at this.” You say, looking at his bulge wriggling in his pants with your best facsimile of disdain while you grope at his chest and down to his bulge. Marvus whines gently, his hands twitch, but he doesn’t move, besides his bulge twisting into your hands. “What a bad boy you are. I know what you need.”

He squirms while you turn and walk to his table to dig around, and only turn back to his blatant staring at your ass to show him the purple spotted black necktie you found of his, and he smiles wider. You should get him a leash, you think, climbing into his lap. You pull his arms behind him and tie them together at the wrist. It’s not your best work, but it’s serviceable, as shown by him wriggling and not being able to get out of it when you grind your nook down against him through his pants. That’s better.

“Do you think someone who can’t even keep his hands to himself deserves my nook?” You purr, groping at his chest because you can. “Do you even deserve to touch me? Do you think you deserve to pleasure me, let alone even come?”

With how wide his eyes are, you must be doing that low voice he says you do sometimes, he always says it catches him off guard and makes him weak in the knees. “P-please, Chixie. I’ll be good for you. I wanna make you feel good. Use me.” His voice wavers slightly as he speaks, all whimpery and soft, begging. “Please.”

You can feel yourself sweating down your back, and you have to focus to speak. “I’ll let you try.” You breathe, and lean on his chest to shove his pants out of the way. This is good, you’re excited, your bulge is twisting against your stomach as you hold his still.

“Thank you.” He mumbles, letting out a low groan as you start to settle onto his bulge. “Thank you, miss, thanks, thank you, Chixie, fuck, fuck.” You’re focusing on not clenching on him as you go, but you can see him staring down at your nook with his ears twitching as his hips rock up. “You’re so fuckin’ good, Chixie. Goddamn miracle.” His head falls back against the couch as you bottom out, and you bite his throat, gripping his collar by the loop in front to pull him forward. The noise he makes is sinful, sends a shudder down your spine.

“You can’t come.” You growl, and he whines, nodding until you bite him again. “Don’t move. I’ll tell you when you’re allowed to come, Marvus. Be a good boy for me, or it’ll be all day before you’re allowed.”

Marvus slurs his promises, his pretty eyes going distant as you start to move. You have to bounce yourself on his bulge to manage anything, because his size makes it so there’s not as much of an option to just grind and let his bulge move, and it’s another guilty pleasure about all this, the way he fills you and the heavy curl of him inside you. Your claws sink into his chest as you move, and you sink your teeth into the tendons of his neck while he holds himself taught to keep from moving, his hips up and his shoulders tense.

Under your hands, you feel his pusher speeding, and he’s moaning, each breath in like a whimper, even biting his pretty lips until you kiss him slow and deep, keeping your lips against his even when you can’t kiss for the noises you’re making.

His bulge lashes, and he shivers, whimpering. “Ch-Chixie, Chixie, please.” He whimpers, leaning towards you as you lean back to hold his knees. “Please. Am I doin’ good?” His voice is so adoring, you can’t help but kiss him, one hand on his collar and the other tangled in his long hair.

“You’re doing s-so good, Marvus.” You murmur, nibbling at his bottom lip. “So good, pretty boy. You’re making me feel good.” You grind against him, leaning your forehead against his chest and turning your high whine into a growl to play up the scene. “You can move now. I wanna see you come, gorgeous.”

Marvus purrs again, eyelashes fluttering. “Th-thank you, ff, fuck, thank you so much, babe.” He gasps, rocking up against you with sharp snaps of his hips that make you gasp.

You’re already oversensitive, shivering, from his mouth earlier, and now you’re just clinging to him, trying to be an active partner until the end and smothering his little thanks with kisses, and then biting at his neck and shoulders when you can’t keep that up anymore. His noises start to get weak and whimpery, and you know he’s close, his movements shorter, and you start cooing at him to finish, petting at his hair.

He shudders hard and presses flush against you, shuddering, and you curl against him as he spills. It’s cold, flooding, and you whine gently. He’s pressed directly against your seedflap, and it only takes a second for it to open and absorb his material, and then you’re gone too, spilling over his stomach and grinding hard against him again, flushed from your hairline to your collarbones.

As you’re gently rocking against him, stretching out your orgasm as long as you can, his breaths trail into little hiccups, and you have to make yourself pet at him, purring softly to calm him. He isn’t sobbing, not nearly, but he whimpers and sniffles and presses his face into your hands while you kiss his cheeks and forehead. He nuzzles against your neck, whimpering, and clings to you when you get his hands untied.

“Good boy.” You coo, kissing his horn to make him shiver and start to calm. “That was fun, right? You feel better after the show now?” He nods, smiling against your neck, and squeezes you. “Good to relax, huh? Pretty thing, there you go.”

He eases himself back against the couch, looking sleepy and relaxed. “Thanks, Chixie. Fuckin’. Thanks for all that. God.” His hands stroke up your sides, still gently reverent. “Mm, you’re a motherfuckin’ miracle.”

You giggle, softly, and pet his hair, then slowly unclip his collar for later. “Let’s get cleaned up, Marvus. We’re getting your couch sticky.” He laughs, and you scoot off his lap, only to be dragged back to his side on the couch. “Cuddly. At least wipe off. I don’t wanna get sticky.” You complain, gently, and cuddle into his side, soaking up the affection.

It falls quiet as you waste a few makeup wipes to clean him and yourself off, with him just leaning against your side, and you start trying to work yourself up to asking him if he wants to be official, but he speaks first, sounding as embarrassed and gentle as he did when you had him on his knees.

“Hey, Chickie. Chixie.” His hand on your side squeezes you. “I’ve been kickin’ around in my pan thinkin’ if you’d wanna, you know. Get to getting something. Do something official. Together. Like a date.”

Marvus won’t meet your eyes, and you can see his flush at his hairline, and he only looks at you when you pull his face down to yours, looking in his eyes to make sure this isn’t some really long con. He seems sincere, his eyes all woofbeast-y and precious.

“I would really like to date you.” You finally say, kissing him before he can spend too long being excited to remember to. “I’d really, really like it a lot, Marvus. I was just going to ask you.”

He laughs, nuzzling against your forehead and moving to his knees to face you on the couch. “We’re so in-tune, babe. We’re already doin’ good.” His smile is beautiful, and you kiss him slow and deep, curling against him while he drags you into his lap, petting gently at your hair.

“Yeah. We should get dressed. I’m tired.” You mumble, kissing him a few more times, quickly, and he trails behind you to kiss you again when you lean back. “Mm, come on, let’s get dressed.”

Marvus follows you as you get dressed, sneaking kisses here and there like he always does, but you feel different, knowing that you’re officially dating, now. You feel more wanted now, when he snuggles into your neck and kisses your throat, arms looped around your waist, and you kiss his ear. He’s clingy, and you adore it, leaning against him until you can get him to the door. It’s a short walk to his limo, and then a quick ride to the hotel, and no one looks twice when he slides into your room behind you. You both undress again, and he flops heavily onto your bed, stretching his arms out for you to crawl in next to him.

“I’m gonna take you somewhere so fuckin’ nice, Chickie. You’re gonna love it. You ever been to Griddle-Grid Hive?"

**Author's Note:**

> anyone up for some troll waffle house?  
> 


End file.
